"I wouldn't sneak off to Santa Fé an' cheat yu out of them. Yu ought to be ashamed of yoreself."
"Yah!" snorted the aggrieved little man. "I had business over to Santa Fé!"
"Shore," indorsed Hopalong. "We've all had business over to Santa Fé. Why, about eight years ago I had business—"
"Choke up," interposed Red. "About eight years ago yu was washin' pans for cookie, an' askin' me for cartridges. Buck used to larrup yu about four times a day eight years ago."
To their roars of laughter Hopalong dropped to the rear, where, red-faced and quiet, he bent his thoughts on how to get square.
"We'll have a pleasant time corralling that gang," began Billy for the third time.
"For heaven's sake get off that trail!" replied Lanky. "We aint goin' to hold 'em up. De-plomacy's th' game."
Billy looked dubious and said nothing. If he hadn't proven that he was as nervy as any man in the outfit they might have taken more stock in his grumbling.
"What's the latest from Abilene way?" asked Buck of Frenchy.
"Nothin' much 'cept th' barb-wire ruction," replied the recruit.
"What's that?" asked Red, glancing apprehensively back at Hopalong.
"Why, th' settlers put up barb-wire fence so's the cattle wouldn't get on their farms. That would a been all right, for there wasn't much of it. But some Britishers who own a couple of big ranches out there got smart all of a sudden an' strung wire all along their lines. Punchers crossin' th' country would run plumb into a fence an' would have to ride a day an' a half, mebbe, afore they found th' corner. Well, naturally, when a man has been used to ridin' where he blame pleases an' as straight as he pleases he ain't goin' to chase along a five-foot
